


The Feast of St. Alinta

by HYPERFocused



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-05
Updated: 2014-05-05
Packaged: 2018-01-21 15:10:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1554767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HYPERFocused/pseuds/HYPERFocused
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s Christmas, and Rodney’s going a little bit crackers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Feast of St. Alinta

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Written 12/29/2006 for the Mystery Schmoop Week for Under Mistletoe.

It wasn’t that Rodney hated Christmas. Despite his reputation for vitriol and general unpleasantness, he had nothing against the concept of Goodwill towards men (or more correctly towards all sentient beings, whether corporeal or not.). In fact, he had especially good will towards one man in particular, and wouldn’t have been adverse to catching him under the mistletoe – had there been any on Atlantis – and kissing the grin off his face.

It was just that so far all of his Christmases had sucked. Maybe not in movie-of-the-week proportions, mostly because parents who just didn’t bother made for boring viewing. But definitely in the “Oh, thank you _so_ much for the coffee mug full of (stale) candy. (I’m probably allergic to it anyway). Yes, I can see Santa is wearing Canadian flag shorts. Isn’t that clever? (Can I go back to work now? This chit-chat probably cost several million dollars of important research),” way.

Rodney was trying to be festive, he really was. He hadn’t growled at Kavanaugh for what seemed like a week now. (It was actually nine hours and counting.) He’d left the last almost-brownie for whoever was behind him in the lunch line that day. (Yeah, he’d had a whole Cadbury bar to himself in his room, but it was the principle of the thing.

After overhearing yet another unbearable rendition of Jingle Bells, this time in Zelenka’s enthusiastic but off-key warble, it came to him. The solution to all his (non Wraith, non-survival related) problems. Since none of the pre-existing ones would quite do for him, Rodney McKay was going to invent the perfect holiday.

It couldn’t be that difficult, he reasoned. Probably wouldn’t take as much brain power as he used to finagle extra coffee rations out of whatshisname Josephson who worked in storage. Come to think of it, that would be the first tenet of the holiday-yet-to-be-named: The drinking of the ceremonial brew. Coffee for him, Tea for Carson, Beer for John. That strange drink with the spotted berries and twigs for Teyla. It didn’t matter, as long as it was a concoction changed by heat, with a personal meaning to the drinker.

But what else? Food. You couldn’t have a holiday without a good meal. Except perhaps Yom Kippur, but this wasn’t that kind of holiday, and he wasn’t Jewish. No, his holiday had to have a special dinner attached. Since they were celebrating Atlantis, it had to include something native. Perhaps a side dish made of that delicate grain they’d just harvested. Rodney pondered whether the geneticists and kitchen staff could jury rig some Ancient Tech to make giant, 6 winged turkey-hams, but then thought against it. With his luck, they would attack him. Still, the thought of actual flying pigs…

What next? What would other people on Atlantis find meaningful? Rodney didn’t want this to be like Christmas, exactly, no martyrs to worship. But s a remembrance of all those they’d lost since their arrival seemed more than appropriate. He only wished there would be fewer people to name

Halling and Dr Heightmeyer could come up with an appropriate non-denominational memorial, and they might allow time for short tributes by those inclined.

And what about gifts? What fun was a holiday without gifts? Not so much, Rodney knew for a fact. So this holiday, everyone would contribute one gift for a communal purpose. That way, no one would feel slighted.

It dawned on Rodney then, after all this solo planning, that perhaps others might want in on the process. After all, this was all about finding unity on Atlantis, their new home. And people would be more likely to adopt it if it wasn’t solely a Rodney McKay production.

Besides, he was way too busy to work out the gory details.

He approached Elizabeth first. “Do you have a minute?”

“Of course, Rodney. Is something wrong?”

“It’s about the holidays…”

“If you don’t want to take part in the Christmas festivities, you don’t have to, but it wouldn’t hurt you to stay and socialize.” She jumped to the usual conclusion.

“No, it’s not that. It’s just that Earth is so far away, and I think it’s time we build new traditions.”

“Well, yes. What did you have in mind?”

“I’ve invented a holiday. But I could use your input. It needs more.”

“You _invented_ a holiday?”

“It’s not a new concept. You’ve heard of Kwaanza, I presume”

“Of course I have. But I still don’t think –“

“Hear me out.” Rodney filled Elizableth in on his thoughts, and wasn’t at all surprised he convinced her handily. Her suggestion of a principle to celebrate for their created holiday was diplomacy. Everyone should try to mend an argument, or get to know someone they didn’t know well.

Dr Beckett was next. His suggestion was “Home.” Everyone had to share one reason Atlantis was home to them now, or suggest one way it could become so.

Rodney knew that his answer would be ‘John’. He just wished he had the nerve to say so.

“A new cause for celebration? I find that refreshing.” Teyla told him in her matter of fact tone when he mentioned it to her later. “We should meet in honor of our struggles to overcome adversity.”

For some reason he was reluctant – he wouldn’t admit to being afraid – to approach John on the matter. It’s not that John would ridicule him for it – he was actually the most decent guy Rodney knew. His teasing really did feel like affection, unlike the “I’m only saying this for your own good, Rodney. Now buck up” comments he got as a child.

“So What’s this about the new holiday?” John beat him to the punch. “I didn’t think you were all that into the old ones.”

“I don’t mind Christmas. I just don’t find myself feeling it now. So I thought we could create something meaningful here, just for us.”

“ _Us_ us?” John grinned. “Why, Rodney, I didn’t know you cared.”

Rodney gave his best glare, so as not to give himself away. “Atlantis us, John.” He was gratified to see that John looked a bit disappointed. Maybe there was a chance after all. “Do you have something to add to the holiday?”

“Yes. I’d like everyone to try something new. Something they didn’t think they could dare.”

“You mean besides traveling towards almost certain death in another galaxy?”

“Yeah, that’s over and done with. This is home now. I meant something small. Personal. Like this.” With that, John leaned in and kissed Rodney, who wasn’t expecting it at _all._. He’d assumed if John ever did make a move, it would be after much hand-wringing and discussion, warnings about how nobody could know, or he’d have the excuse of being under the influence.

Instead it was an ordinary day, though Rodney’d had some extraordinary thoughts. But he’d have to put the holiday plans on the back burner, because the only thing he could think about now was the firm press of John’s lips, and the way John’s mouth opened for him, and how he’d like to make a holiday of just this, surely it was worth celebrating.

* * *

They called it the feast of St Alinta, which meant absolutely nothing, but Dr Zelenka – an anagram fan – had come up with the name, and it stuck. And it didn’t end up much like Rodney had planned it, but that was okay. They made new traditions, just like he’d hoped, remembered those they’d lost, tried new things, and cemented bonds old and new.

And the bond he felt the strongest, sat next to him and passed over the rest of his dessert. His hand on Rodney’s thigh was unseen by anyone, but his “Happy St Alinta’s Day, Rodney,” was heard by all.  



End file.
